Golden
by Alohaemora
Summary: September 1, 2017. One day. Six golden moments of peace. "All was well." [A celebration of six years and fifty stories on FanFiction.]
1. Neville

1 September 2017

 **I. Neville**

 **6 a.m.**

Neville and Hannah's alarm clock went off promptly at six o'clock in the morning. Neville groaned and reached out to bang his fist on top of it without opening his eyes.

"I should get up," Hannah said sleepily, barely stirring from where she was nestled comfortably in her husband's arms. "Train's going out today—the pub will be a madhouse."

"Yeah, the train's coming in today," Neville murmured, resting his cheek against Hannah's soft curtain of gingery-gold hair. "The school will be a madhouse, too."

There was a small pause, and Neville felt Hannah burrow slightly deeper into his embrace. His lips twitched.

"It's lovely here though," Hannah sighed.

"Mm-hmm. So very lovely."

"Maybe," Hannah tucked her head against Neville's chest, and he bit his lip to hide his grin, "we could stay here, just a little longer?"

"Hmm. I suppose a few more minutes won't kill us."

"Or _maybe_ ," Hannah whispered again, and there was a mischievous note in her voice now that caused a familiar heat to creep up Neville's cheeks, even after more than a decade of marriage, "we could stay here for… _more_ than just a few minutes?"

"Hannah," Neville laughed, running his fingers through her long blond hair. "I swear, you're going to be the death of me."

"Shut up and kiss me, Longbottom."

Grinning, Neville shook his head and leaned down, blissfully breathing in the familiar scent of cinnamon, sandalwood, and warmth as he pressed his lips to Hannah's—

 _BANG._

"Breakfast time!" squealed a familiar singsong voice.

Neville groaned against Hannah's lips, rolling away from her, as a blur of blond hair and pink pajamas shot through the bedroom door—which was still rattling in its hinges. Hannah burst into laughter and sat up against the headboard, opening her arms to gather their seven-year-old daughter into a tight hug as she bounded onto the bed.

"Ellie," Neville grumbled, cracking one eye open to give his daughter a look of mock-annoyance. "It's polite to knock before entering a room."

"Come on, Dad, when has Ellie _ever_ been polite?"

Neville turned back towards the doorway to find his elder daughter, nearly ten years old, slumped against the frame, rubbing her eyes with an irritated look on her face.

"She woke me up at five-thirty," Alice complained. " _Five-thirty_ —just to help her squeeze the last of the toothpaste out of the tube!"

"A job for heroes," Neville told Alice in a serious voice. She rolled her eyes.

"All right, girls, let's get you both to the kitchen," Hannah chimed in, climbing out of bed with Ellie swinging from her hand. "Go wash up, Alice—and stop pouting, young lady, or your face will be stuck that way…"

Neville chuckled, watching Hannah corral their daughters—Ellie humming and Alice grumbling—out of the bedroom. Then, with a sigh, he fell back against his pillows and closed his eyes with a smile on his face.

Forty-five minutes later, Neville arrived at the kitchen of the private flat that he and Hannah had shared above the Leaky Cauldron for nearly fifteen years, freshly showered and dressed in his best professor's robes—the ones he only wore when he wasn't tinkering about in the greenhouses. As he made his way to the kitchen table, he was greeted by the heavenly scent of Hannah's finest bacon and eggs.

"I've got a plate ready for you," Hannah told Neville, swooping over from the stove to set a platter of breakfast down in front of him. "I knew you'd be late."

"I'm not late—I've still got fifteen minutes," Neville protested, picking up his fork. But then, he smiled and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, love."

" _Eurgh_ ," Ellie declared, wrinkling her nose across the table. "Why are you two always _kissing?_ "

Hannah laughed, ruffling Ellie's hair as she walked back to the stove. "You'll be singing a different tune one day, miss."

"But not for a while," Neville put in quickly. "Boys are icky, Elisabeth. Remember that."

"I don't like boys," Alice muttered, swallowing a spoonful of cornflakes and scowling. "I've no idea how Lily lives with two brothers. James is the _worst_."

"Al, that's not nice," Hannah chided from the stove, shooting Alice a disapproving look. But Neville winked at Alice.

"He's a git, isn't he?" he whispered. Alice grinned.

"Daddy, will you come home before bedtime tonight?" Ellie asked, her golden curls bouncing about her face as she leaned across the table towards Neville, beaming hopefully. "Gran's coming over for dinner—she's going to teach me and Alice how to crochet!" Neville's grandmother had long-insisted that both her great-granddaughters call her "Gran," determined to be the grandparent that neither girl would otherwise have.

"I'm sorry, ladybug, but I've got to stay at the castle tonight," Neville told Ellie apologetically. "It's the feast."

Ellie's face fell, and Neville's heart gave a twinge.

"I'll be home tomorrow," Neville promised, looking from Ellie to Alice. "You've got me to yourselves all weekend, both of you."

"Will you be home for my birthday this year, Dad?" Alice asked casually—but there was a note of real longing in her voice that made Neville's heart ache. Alice's birthday in October always managed to fall right around the time that both midterm exams and the Quidditch season started up, and as hard as Neville tried not to, he often ended up stuck at Hogwarts until late in the evening.

"I'll be there, Al," Neville said firmly, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand. "You can count on it."

Alice flashed him a brilliant smile.

"All right, that's enough chitchat," Hannah announced, sweeping over from the stove and flicking her wand at Alice's and Ellie's empty bowls; they soared off to the sink. "Go upstairs and get changed, both of you. The pub's going to be busy today, and I need you two to help Dinah clean the tables. Come on, chop chop—say goodbye to your dad!"

Four little arms seized Neville about the middle in a tight hug—and then, the pair of blond sisters hurried out of the kitchen and towards the stairs, chattering loudly.

Neville sighed, pushing his chair back and standing up. He waved his wand at his own plate, and it sailed away to join his daughters' in the sink. Then, he looked at Hannah with a sad smile. "Well, I'd best be off."

Hannah nodded, tucking her wand into her apron and following Neville to the doorway. "I'll walk you to the fireplace."

Neville led the way into the sitting room, where he grabbed his traveling cloak from the hook near the mantelpiece and swung it around his shoulders. Without missing a beat, Hannah reached up to fasten the buttons.

"D'you really think you'll be able to make it home for Alice's birthday?" Hannah asked him quietly, as she finished the last button and placed her hands on his chest to smooth out the cloak's material.

Neville looked at her, swallowing. "I have to," he said in a low voice. "I can't miss it again. I…I'll figure something out—I'm sure Hestia or Adrian can take care of my students for one day."

Hannah smiled at him, moving her hands to link them around Neville's neck. "You're a good dad, Neville," she murmured, embracing him. "I'll miss you."

"You know where to find me, Han," Neville said softly, kissing the top of her head. "I'm only a fireplace away."

"Oh, I know," Hannah sighed, stepping back and allowing Neville to grab a fistful of Floo powder from the mantel. "But I'll still miss you."

Neville smiled at her, feeling a lump emerge in his throat. "I'll miss you, too."

He flung the Floo powder into the fireplace, and the flames turned emerald green and roared, growing higher, as Neville began to step into them—

"Neville—wait."

Neville drew back and turned around. "What—?"

"I've been thinking about this for a few weeks, now," Hannah said in a rush, stepping towards him. "And—and I really wanted to tell you, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up—or how I even felt about it, to be honest—but I—I think I know what I want, now, and—"

"Hannah," Neville interrupted, blinking rapidly. "What are you talking about?"

Hannah looked at him for a moment, biting her lip. Then, she took a deep breath.

"In four years, both of the girls will be at Hogwarts with you," Hannah said softly.

Neville frowned. "Er—yes…that's right."

"Well," Hannah said slowly, "a couple weeks ago, I had a cup of tea with Alicia Spinnet—Jordan, I mean—and she…she told me that Madam Pomfrey is set to retire in 2021. She's got some family in France, apparently, and she wants a change of scenery."

Neville rolled her eyes. "Poppy's been threatening retirement for years. She's been at Hogwarts almost as long as Minerva, I reckon."

"Yes, but this time, she's serious," Hannah said. "She's asked Alicia to be her replacement."

"Oh," Neville blinked. "Well, that's—wonderful. For both of them."

"The thing is, Alicia isn't sure she can do it," Hannah said. "She's working pretty easy hours at St. Mungo's right now, and Hogwarts is so far away from where she and Lee live in London—and Lee's always traveling for work, and you know they've got a daughter, too, about Ellie's age—"

"So she isn't taking the job?"

"No, she is."

"But," Neville shook his head, feeling more confused than ever, "you just said she doesn't think she can—"

"She doesn't think she can do it on her _own_ ," Hannah said. "That's why she's asked me to do it with her."

Neville stared at Hannah, slightly openmouthed.

"We'd each work three-and-a-half days a week," Hannah whispered. "So, we'd each only make half the salary—but it doesn't matter, since I've got the Cauldron as well." She paused, swallowing as she met Neville's eyes. "I just—I thought—well, I always wanted to be a Healer—I retrained and everything—and the pub was the only thing holding me back, but let's face it, the place practically runs itself, now—and with Alicia's offer, I can actually do both—"

"Hannah," Neville croaked, stepping forward and grasping her shoulders. "Are you—I mean, did you—Hogwarts—?"

"I haven't said yes officially," Hannah said, smiling at him as she blinked back tears. "But I want to. Neville, I…it's— _so_ hard, being without you—and with the girls gone in four years, I don't think I could go even a day without seeing you. I—I love you."

Neville shook his head slowly, then wrapped his arms around his wife, seizing her in a passionate kiss. Hannah gasped, but then laughed, melting into his embrace. Seconds slipped into minutes. Time ceased to exist. And when Neville finally pulled back, breathing heavily, the look on Hannah's face caused his heart to swell with emotion so powerful that it warmed his entire body.

"I love you, too," he said hoarsely. "So much."

Hannah wiped a few tears from the corners of her eyes. Then, suddenly, she let out a strangled cry of shock, as her gaze fell on the odd, little cuckoo clock above the mantel, a gift from Neville's great uncle Algie. "Neville, it's nearly seven-thirty!" she cried, seizing another fistful of Floo powder from its box and hurling it into the flames. "Oh, this is all my fault," she lamented, practically railroading Neville into the fireplace. "You're going to be so late—!"

"Han," Neville reached an arm out of the flames and took her hand, squeezing it. "Trust me. It was worth it."

Hannah beamed.

* * *

Author's Note:

In celebration of six years and fifty stories on FanFiction, I present to you 'Golden,' a collection of six parts of the day that we last saw Harry Potter in the books, and realized that "all was well." There's going to be six chapters, published daily, focusing on six different characters as they maneuver this very important date in history.

I'm going to save my long, cheesy, emotional speech for the last chapter, but tl;dr: thank you so very much to my wonderful readers/supporters for indulging my love for writing and magic. You're all wizards.

Much love,  
Ari


	2. Percy

**II. Percy**

 **9:30 a.m.**

Percy looked up from his mug of morning coffee as his wife came into the kitchen, looking sharp and stunning in a set of bottle green robes. Her long, shiny auburn hair was piled into an elegant knot at the top of her head.

"Don't you look lovely," Percy told her, smiling. "What's the occasion?"

"Wizengamot trials—Kingsley's got six to oversee today," Audrey said, walking over to the tea service. She glanced at Percy, raising her eyebrows. "Perce, you're still in your pajamas. Aren't you going to be late?"

"No," Percy smirked, taking a sip of his coffee. "I decided to give myself the morning off. Perk of being head of the department, you see."

"Percy Weasley, if your eighteen-year-old self ever heard you say that," Audrey exclaimed, though her eyes were twinkling.

Percy grinned, feeling relieved—not for the first time—that his eighteen-year-old self was long gone.

"So, Kingsley wants me in early this morning," Audrey said, draining her cup of tea and grabbing a banana from the bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter. "I hate to ask, but do you think you could take the girls to Romilda's today? They're still sound asleep."

"You've got it," Percy nodded, leaning back in his chair.

"Make sure you only put butter on Molly's toast—she's going through another one of her 'I hate jam' phases," Audrey said, slipping her traveling cloak on. "And Lucy prefers her milk cold these days, not warm—"

"Audrey," Percy rolled his eyes. "I'm sure I can handle a spot of breakfast. Relax. Go to work. You've got a busy day ahead of you."

Audrey sighed. "All right, all right." She hitched her purse up her shoulder, smiling tiredly at Percy. "Being full-time Ministry parents will be easier when the girls are at Hogwarts, won't it?"

Percy chuckled. "Easier, yes, but lonelier, too, I reckon—"

"Percy! Percy, come to the Floo! I need you! _Now!_ "

Percy jumped, turning to stare in the direction of the sitting room, where the fireplace was. Then, he looked at Audrey. She was smiling bemusedly.

"Is that—?"

"George," Percy muttered, setting his mug on the kitchen table and closing his eyes. "Too bloody early in the morning."

"I think I'm going to apparate to work today," Audrey said airily, heading in the direction of the back door. "The Floo seems a bit busy."

"Audrey, can you please go see what he wants?" Percy asked desperately, and Audrey turned to face him, eyebrows raised.

"He's your brother," she said.

"He's your brother-in-law," Percy countered. "Come on, you know I'd answer the Floo if it was one of your siblings—"

" _Ha_ ," Audrey snorted. "Percy, I've seen you jump off the sofa and run upstairs when Zacharias Flooes."

"Your brother is a special case," Percy said quickly. "He's a brat—you say it all the time—"

"And _your_ brother is a pain in my arse," Audrey told Percy lightly. "Forgive me if I'd rather not go to work with my hair green or my eyebrows singed off." She smirked, walking back over to Percy and leaning up to kiss his cheek. "You know what, Perce? I don't think we'll ever have a chance to feel lonely after the girls are gone—not with our big, barmy families just a Floo call away."

Percy watched, slightly openmouthed, as Audrey—still smirking—slipped out the back door and headed towards the apparition point at the end of the lane. Then, shaking his head, Percy turned again to face the doorway that separated the kitchen from the sitting room.

" _Percy!_ Percy Weasley, you prat! I know you're home! I'll come there myself if you don't get your arse to the Floo in ten seconds!"

Gritting his teeth, Percy stalked down the kitchen and into the sitting room. George's head was bobbing in the green flames of the fireplace, his expression frantic.

"Finally!" George exclaimed impatiently, as Percy sank to his knees in front of the grate. "Took your own bloody time, didn't you?"

"George, it's nine-thirty in the morning," Percy said through clenched teeth.

"I know!" George cried. "Listen—Percy, I need a favor—and before you say no, _please_ , just hear me out."

Percy opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it, pressing his mouth into a thin line. "What do you want?"

"I need you to take Freddie to King's Cross."

" _What?_ " Percy yelped. "George, the train leaves in an hour-and-a-half! Why couldn't you have asked me sooner?"

"I know, I know—I'm sorry!" George lamented. "Ange is still stuck in Germany for work, and I completely forgot that I arranged for a foreign investor to visit the shop today—you know I've been trying to take Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes international for years! This could be my only shot!"

"Well, then, can't Ron take Freddie?" Percy asked. "George, you know I've got work, too—"

"Ron had that Muggle driving test this morning, and he and Hermione are taking the kids straight to the station from there," George said. "And Percy, don't fib. I know you took the morning off. Bill told me yesterday."

Inwardly cursing his elder brother, Percy asked stiffly, "And I suppose _William_ was unavailable to help you out?"

"He didn't answer the Floo when I called—and neither did Harry and Ginny," George said tensely. "I think they've already left for the station."

"How horribly responsible of them," Percy told George, shaking his head. "All right, listen—why don't I ask Oliver if he and Katie can take Freddie with them? I'm sure he wouldn't mind—"

"Percy, are you joking?" George demanded. "He'll hex me to Scotland and back—he hates surprises almost as much as you do! I'd like my bollocks intact when I try and market my business to this Swedish entrepreneur, thank you very much."

Percy groaned, burying his face in his hands. " _George_ —"

" _Please_ , Perce?" George asked desperately. "Look—I'll owe you. Why don't you bring the girls to the shop today? I'll look after them—I'm sure Roxy would love the company. And Lucy hasn't spent nearly enough time with her godfather lately."

"No, I'll take Freddie, but don't worry about Molly and Lucy," Percy said quickly. "I'm just going to drop them off at Romilda's before I head to the station—"

"Nonsense," George interrupted, rolling his eyes. "I'm sure they'd much rather spend the afternoon at their uncle's than at the Ministry daycare."

Percy was quite certain that George was right about that, but he was also certain that allowing his daughters to spend the day at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes meant that he and Audrey would be spending the next several weeks dealing with an influx of trick wands and Canary Creams in the house.

"C'mon, Perce," George persisted. "Let me help you out. It's just one harmless afternoon."

Percy snorted. "George, I think you and I have very different definitions of the word _harmless_."

"You're probably right," George said, grinning. "But I reckon my son will teach you the right definition today. See you at ten, Perce!"

And with that, George's head disappeared from the flames with a soft _pop_.

All things considered, it was a miracle that Percy managed to get his children fed, groomed, and standing in front of the counter of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in just under thirty minutes. When George saw them, he let out a cry of relief, racing over to greet them.

"Thank Merlin," he muttered, seizing Percy in a tight hug that knocked his glasses askew. "You're the best brother ever, I swear it."

"Can I get that in writing?" Percy sniffed, carefully fixing his glasses as George pulled back.

George rolled his eyes at Percy, before turning to Molly and Lucy with a grin. "Roxy's waiting for you both in the flat upstairs," he told them, ruffling Lucy's hair. "She got a whole new box of nail polish from Aunt Angelina's sisters last week that she's been dying to show off."

Molly's and Lucy's eyes lit up.

"Can we go up, Dad?" Molly asked Percy excitedly.

Percy sighed. "Yes, you may. Have fun—and don't give your uncle George any trouble!" Percy called after his daughters, as they vanished up the spiral staircase to George and Angelina's flat above the joke shop.

"Don't give me any trouble?" George asked Percy, eyebrows raised. "Percy, you do remember that I _invented_ trouble, don't you?"

"Vividly," Percy said dryly, shooting George an exasperated look. "You nearly burned my bedroom down when you were seven."

"I thought Mum was going to kill us for that," George said, vaguely brushing a spot above his long-lost ear—a habit that Percy knew typically manifsted itself whenever Fred was mentioned, however indirectly, in conversation; it made Percy's heart twinge. George looked at Percy, eyes gleaming. "The look on your face made it worth it, though."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Glad I could be of service."

"Hey, mates!"

Percy turned around. Freddie had arrived at the clerk's counter, grinning hugely. He was lugging his trunk with one hand and carrying his owl cage and his broomstick in the other. Tall, dark, and lean, thirteen-year-old Freddie was the spitting image of his mother. Apart from the light dusting of freckles on his cheeks, it was easy to assume that George had contributed nothing, but Percy could always see his brother— _brothers_ —so clearly in Freddie's smile.

"Hello, Freddie," Percy greeted his nephew with a clap on the shoulder. "Excited for your third year?"

"Definitely," Freddie shared a sly grin with his father, and Percy was distinctly certain that the two had done or planned something that Angelina would highly disapprove of. Percy hoped he wouldn't have to find out what it was.

"All right," George told Freddie, pulling his son into a hug. "Have a safe trip, mate. Be good—but not too good, of course—and _please_ write home tomorrow, or your mum will have my head."

"I will, I promise. Bye, George," Freddie told his father, and Percy pursed his lips. Recently, Freddie and Roxanne had taken to calling their parents, as well as their various aunts and uncles, by their first names. It made Angelina furious—so, naturally, George encouraged it.

"Bye," George waved after his son and brother, as the two of them began fighting their way through the thick maze of customers near the joke shop's front entrance.

"How're we getting to King's Cross, Perce?" Freddie asked, as they stepped onto the cobbled street of Diagon Alley. "Did you get a Ministry car?"

"That's _Uncle_ Percy to you," Percy told Freddie firmly. "And no, I didn't have time for that. I thought we could just apparate."

"You're going to side-along me?" Freddie asked enthusiastically. "George never does that—he says I'll get splinched."

Percy's lips twitched. "Well, perhaps your father isn't quite as confident an apparator as I am," he said lightly, holding out his arm. "Take my hand—and hold tight."

Freddie obliged, and Percy turned on the spot. A moment later, they materialized into the deserted alcove near Platform Seven of King's Cross Station. Freddie was gasping for air.

"That—was— _brilliant_ ," Freddie panted, shaking his head as though trying to clear water from his ears. "Bloody awful, really, but still—brilliant!"

"It takes a bit of getting used to," Percy smiled at Freddie, as the two of them stepped out of the alcove and into the bustling London street. "But it's quite convenient. Now, come on, let's find you a trolley."

Together, Percy and Freddie heaved the latter's trunk, owl cage, and broomstick into an empty trolley, and made their way to the familiar metal barrier that separated Platform Nine from Platform Ten. After a quick scan of the station for any lingering gazes, Percy ushered Freddie towards the barrier, following at his heels.

A moment later, they emerged onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, which was almost completely obscured by the thick white steam that was surging from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Percy could vaguely make out the blurry outlines of students and parents moving about the platform, but it was practically impossible to discern anyone's faces.

"Stay close," Percy ordered Freddie. "And for Merlin's sake, please don't hold your broomstick on your shoulder like that. You'll hit someone—do you have any idea how many laws there are about proper broomstick conveyance—?"

"All right, Perce, relax," Freddie said in an amused voice, unshouldering his broomstick and setting it back in his trolley. "Are you going to cite me for improper broomstick conveyance?"

"Don't give me ideas," Percy muttered, squinting through the dense vapor of the platform. As he passed by an indistinct group of figures, he thought he heard Harry's and Ginny's voices, and he was grateful for a reason not to stop and say hello. If Harry and Ginny were here, James was certainly not far off—and Percy didn't think he could handle both Freddie _and_ James at the moment. His nephews were quite the double act.

Wiping a few beads of sweat from his forehead, Percy pushed Freddie's trolley towards the Hogwarts Express. Freddie was carrying his broomstick on his shoulder again, and Percy had to bite back an annoyed rebuke as the two of them searched for a relatively deserted carriage. A few minutes later, Percy and Freddie had lifted his trunk and owl cage into the train.

"Do you want me to stay with you until the train leaves?" Percy asked Freddie, as they stepped off the train and back onto the platform.

"No, it's fine, you can go," Freddie shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm sure James, and Louis, and Magnus are around here somewhere."

"Well, all right, then," Percy said, adjusting his glasses. "Have a wonderful third year, Freddie."

"Thanks," Freddie grinned, accepting a brief, sideways hug from his uncle. Then, as he drew back, Percy caught a sudden flash of magenta and gold in Freddie's jeans pocket.

Percy narrowed his eyes. "Freddie, what's in your pocket?"

"Fireworks," Freddie said promptly, without even a trace of guilt.

Percy's jaw dropped. " _Fireworks?_ " he spluttered. "What—what are you going to do with them?"

"I think it'd be best for everyone if I didn't say," Freddie said in a very serious tone. "Besides, I'm sure you'll find out tomorrow, when my mum kicks my dad out of the house. He'll probably go to your place."

"Freddie," Percy said firmly. "Give those fireworks to me."

Freddie smirked infuriatingly. "I'd rather not."

Percy gritted his teeth. "George, for the love of—"

"I'm not _George_ , I'm Freddie," Freddie said in a tone of great indignation. "Honestly, Percy, you might want to get your glasses checked."

Percy blinked, his mouth falling open, his heart leaping into his throat, as the memories crashed over him with the force of a tidal wave. He gaped at Freddie, feeling suddenly lightheaded. Then, without a word—without planning it—Percy reached out and pulled his nephew into a crushing hug, cupping his head.

"Have a good year, mate," Percy whispered hoarsely, as he pulled away from Freddie, who was smiling bemusedly. "Drive your teachers mad."

Freddie shook his head, looking utterly bewildered. "Are you feeling all right, Uncle Percy? You aren't trying to guilt me into coming clean about the fireworks, are you?" he asked warily.

Percy gave a strangled chuckle. "No," he shook his head. "I'm sure I'll hear all about those tomorrow when your dad comes around the house, begging to sleep on my couch."

Freddie laughed.

* * *

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: The fun detail about Freddie and Roxanne calling their dad by his first name belongs to MandyinKC. You can find it in Chapter 9 of her lovely story, 'Another Weasley Christmas.'

Ari


	3. Victoire

**III. Victoire**

 **10:25 a.m.**

" _Victoire!_ Watch where you are going!"

Victoire jumped, blinking around in bewilderment. Looking down at her trolley, she realized that she had nearly run it straight into a brick post.

"Oh—sorry, Maman," Victoire said, hastily redirecting her trolley in the direction of the Hogwarts Express. "I got distracted."

"Keep your head on your shoulders, Weasley," muttered a sly voice in Victoire's left ear. "I'm sure lover-boy is around here somewhere."

Victoire shot her younger sister a furious glare before casting a nervous glance over her shoulder at their parents. Fortunately, it appeared that neither of them had heard Dominique's comment.

"I'm going to go find Freddie and James," Louis announced, giving both of his parents swift hugs. "Bye!" he called over his shoulder, as he pushed his trolley towards a nearby carriage.

"Hey—don't you need help getting your things onto the train?" Dad shouted after him—but Louis had already vanished into the haze of steam billowing from the Hogwarts Express. Victoire rolled her eyes. At thirteen, her younger brother seemed more willing to be seen in public with a banshee than with his own parents.

"I should probably go, too," Victoire told her parents, adjusting her blue and bronze Head Girl badge. "I told Nigel I'd meet him in the Prefects' carriage at a quarter to eleven so we could plan out what to say to the prefects."

Dad grinned, shaking his head. "You know, when I was Head Boy, I made up that speech on the spot."

"Yes, and _that_ is why people call me my mother's daughter," Victoire said lightly. Dad, Maman, and Dominique all laughed.

" _D'accord_ , _mes petites_ , be safe," Maman said, kissing both Victoire's and Dominique's cheeks in turn. "Study hard, write home often, do not do anything _stupide_ —"

"We _know_ , Maman," Dominique rolled her eyes at her mother as she hugged her father. "Seriously, if you're going to give us a speech every time we board the bloody train, the least you could do is _change_ it a little."

Victoire bit back a smirk as Maman's nostrils flared with indignation. Deeming it best to leave her mother and sister to their usual squabbling, Victoire gave her father a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, and began heaving her trolley in the direction of the Prefects' carriage.

She was halfway there when she saw it—the familiar flash of turquoise hair, clearly visible even through the dense combination of steam and people swarming the platform. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she waited for his dark eyes, which were scanning the crowd, to find her. Then, finally—after what felt like several long years—gray eyes met blue, and Victoire couldn't help the beaming smile that spread across her face, as Teddy Lupin began pushing his way through the masses, practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach her.

"Wotcher," he greeted her breathlessly, pulling her into a warm hug and kissing her cheek. "I was afraid I'd missed you."

"The train doesn't leave for another half-hour," Victoire pointed out, slipping her arms around him and embracing him tightly.

"I know," Teddy said, kissing her cheek once more before he pulled back, smiling down at her. "But I figured you'd be on the train already, catching up with all your friends—"

"You're my best friend," Victoire said automatically, and Teddy blinked. Then, he grinned, blushing slightly.

Victoire returned the grin, reaching up a hand to gently brush a curl of blue hair away from Teddy's forehead. "How'd you manage to make it down here? I thought you said yesterday that you had to work."

"Er—" Teddy averted his eyes, shifting his feet. "Well—er— _technically_ , I'm not here right now. I'm on guard duty in Knockturn Alley." He paused, glancing up at Victoire and smiling guiltily. "I figured what Harry doesn't know won't kill him."

"If Voldemort couldn't do it, I doubt you will," Victoire murmured in agreement, wrapping her arms around Teddy's neck and pulling him closer. "Still, Uncle Harry doesn't strike me as the type to play favorites in the workplace—even with his godson."

"Vic," Teddy whispered, his voice raw and gravelly against Victoire's ear; she shivered. "Can we stop talking about Harry, now?"

"Gladly," Victoire whispered back, and she leaned up and kissed him.

Even after eight months together, it always struck Victoire as extraordinary how perfectly natural kissing Teddy felt, in a way that kissing other boys had never been. It was especially incredible considering that they'd grown up as best friends—family, practically. Of course, somewhere along the way—around the time he'd started Hogwarts and met Travis Armstrong, his closest friend in his year—Teddy had stopped having time for her. And then, just a few years later—after Rita Skeeter wrote that horrible column at the Quidditch World Cup, fueling the Hogwarts gossip mill—it was Victoire who had stopped having time for Teddy. Perhaps the time apart had allowed them both to come to their senses.

Perhaps, somewhere deep down, Victoire had always known that Teddy was the one she was meant to spend the rest of her life with. She wondered if Teddy felt the same way.

"I can't believe we won't get to do that again until Christmas," Teddy said hoarsely, as they finally broke apart.

"It doesn't have to be that long," Victoire murmured. "You know I've got a Hogsmeade weekend in October."

"Vic, James and your brother are old enough to go to Hogsmeade this year," Teddy said pointedly, shaking his head. "If they see us together, the whole family will know about us before the day's up."

"I'm surprised Dom hasn't already let the Kneazle out of the bag," Victoire said under her breath.

"She wouldn't," Teddy said firmly. "I've got dirt on Dom."

Victoire looked at Teddy with interest, wondering what information he could be holding over her fourteen-year-old sister—but then, she shook the distraction away. Reaching up, she began gently fiddling again with the loose curl of hair that fell over Teddy's forehead.

"Teddy, I was thinking," Victoire said softly. "We…we've been together eight months now—would it really be so bad if everyone knew about us?"

"I don't think I'll be around to find out," Teddy said dryly. "I'm pretty sure your dad would murder me on the spot."

Victoire rolled her eyes, shoving Teddy's shoulder. "Don't be an idiot—my dad loves you."

"No, your dad loves Teddy Lupin," Teddy corrected. "He does _not_ love the boy that's snogging his daughter."

"Teddy, they're the same person," Victoire snorted.

"Not to your dad," Teddy shook his head.

" _Ted_ ," Victoire rolled her eyes again, taking Teddy's hand and lacing their fingers together. She leaned up so their faces were just inches apart. "I'm _serious_ about this. I want to tell my family about you."

"Vic," Teddy said gruffly, gazing down at her, his gray eyes filled with something Victoire couldn't quite put a name to. "I…we—we can't."

"Why not?"

"Because…" Teddy trailed off, swallowing heavily, though he didn't break his gaze. "Because if we tell them, it becomes…real."

Victoire dropped Teddy's hand and jerked backwards, feeling as though she'd been slapped. Teddy's face turned ashen; he looked horrified with himself.

"Oh, Merlin," Teddy gasped, taking a step towards her. "Vic—I _swear_ —I didn't mean that like it sounded—"

"'It becomes _real?_ '" Victoire repeated, staring up at Teddy in shock.

"I—no—"

"So, all of this—the past _eight_ _months_ —haven't been _real_ to you?" Victoire demanded, feeling tears of mingled hurt and anger sting her eyes.

"Victoire, _please_ —just let me explain—"

"Have you told _anyone_ about us, Teddy?" Victoire asked, her voice catching in her throat as she glowered up at him. "Or—or am I just some— _dirty little secret_ you laugh about over drinks with your mates?"

" _Victoire_ ," Teddy seized her hand, looking devastated. "How could you think that—?"

"Believe me, I have no idea!" Victoire cried, wrenching her hand out of Teddy's grip. "Before today, I— _never_ thought I could think something like that about you, but you've just proven me wrong as usual, Teddy Lupin!" She shook her head, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her blouse. "I've got to get to the Prefects' carriage—I promised Nigel I'd meet him early," she told Teddy icily. "Don't worry, I won't breathe a word of my _secret boyfriend_ to him—if I can even call you my boyfriend anymore—!"

But the rest of Victoire's furious, ferocious tirade was lost, as Teddy stepped forward and pulled her roughly into his arms, kissing her fiercely. Victoire went rigid with anger, letting out a muffled sound of indignation against his lips—but then, barely a second later, she found herself giving in, as the familiarity of being in Teddy's arms banished all coherent and logical thoughts from her brain. Seizing the collar of Teddy's maroon Auror robes, Victoire deepened the kiss, channeling all of her anger and frustration into it.

The kiss lasted perhaps a little longer than Maman would consider appropriate for a public setting—and when, at last, Victoire pulled back, she found herself unable to release Teddy's robes, so dizzy was she that she could barely stand. Panting slightly, Victoire looked up and fixed Teddy with the most severe look she could muster—her best imitation of her mother.

"One of these days, you're going to muck up so badly, you aren't going to be able to kiss away your punishment," Victoire told Teddy in a low voice.

"I'll take my chances," Teddy breathed, gently touching the side of Victoire's face. "Victoire—what I said before—I swear on Merlin's most baggy Y-fronts, I didn't mean it."

"How charming," Victoire said sardonically, though she didn't protest as Teddy's strong, warm arms found their way back to her waist.

"You're the most real thing in my life," Teddy continued, his gray eyes blazing as he gazed down at her. "And you're _not_ a secret—believe me, Travis and the others at the Academy are probably tired of hearing about you."

The corners of Victoire's lips lifted slightly.

"Look—Vic—the thing is…Auror trainees don't make a lot. Travis and I barely scrape together enough to pay our rent each month," Teddy said softly. "I know my nan's got some money saved up for me—and I know Harry would help me out in a heartbeat, if I asked—but I've got too much pride. Nan says it's a family trait," Teddy said, flushing slightly. "But Vic…I don't want you to have anything but the best. When we tell everyone about us, I…I want to be someone you can be proud of."

"Teddy," Victoire whispered, dumbfounded. "You _are_ —"

"Your mum and dad—they aren't just my girlfriend's parents. They…they're family to me," Teddy said earnestly. "And I want— _need_ —them to know that I'd do anything for you—because I would, Vic. You're it for me. You're the one."

For the second time that morning, Victoire's eyes filled with tears. With a strangled noise of frustration, she punched Teddy's shoulder, and he yelped in pain.

" _Ow_ —what was that for?" Teddy spluttered.

"You make me crazy," Victoire sniffed, glaring at him.

"I reckon you take care of that all right on your own," Teddy muttered, massaging his shoulder, and Victoire couldn't repress a smile.

"I really do have to be going," she said, taking Teddy's hands and giving them a gentle squeeze. "I actually did promise Nigel to meet him early."

"Oh, forget about Nigel," Teddy groaned, guiding Victoire backwards so she was trapped between him and her trolley. "He gets to see you every day—I'm not going to see you until October."

Victoire looked at Teddy in surprise. "October? But—James and Lou—"

"Let's forget about them, too," Teddy whispered, and when he leaned down and kissed her again, Victoire was only too happy to oblige.

" _Teddy?_ "

Victoire jumped backwards and collided with her trolley. Ignoring the pain jolting through her hip, she swiveled around to find herself face-to-face with James, who looked scandalized to the very tips of his untidy black hair.

"James," Teddy gasped, his face turning bright red. "What're you doing here?"

James drew himself to his full height—which still left him about nine inches shorter than Teddy. "I go to Hogwarts," James said in a haughty voice that made Victoire want to kick him. "What're _you_ doing here?"

"I'm seeing Victoire off," Teddy said firmly. "Now, bugger off, so I can finish."

James gave Teddy and Victoire a look that suggested they had personally offended his very soul, before he turned around and scampered back into the maze of people on the platform. Teddy watched him go, shaking his head. Then, he looked at Victoire, swallowing heavily.

"I know I said I wanted to tell everyone," Victoire told him in a low voice. "But _that_ was not how I was planning on going about it."

Teddy groaned, burying his face in Victoire's silvery-blond hair. "You should get on the train," he said, his voice muffled. "I need to get home and write my will before your dad can get his hands on me."

"Teddy, I don't think my dad's the one you need to worry about," Victoire said, patting his back comfortingly though she was sure he could hear her smirk in her voice. "In about thirty seconds, Uncle Harry's going to find out that you haven't set foot in Knockturn Alley all morning."

Teddy drew back, his expression aghast, and Victoire laughed. Shaking her head, she leaned up and pressed a quick, but purposeful kiss to his lips. Then, she grabbed a hold of her trolley and began wheeling it towards the Prefects' carriage, her heart thrumming with energy, love, and a hope so electric that when her friends later asked her to describe the moment, she'd tell them she was flying.

* * *

Author's Note:

You know, the funniest thing about this chapter for me is that even though Victoire and Teddy thought they were being discreet about their relationship, the reactions of Harry, Ginny, et all to James's announcement in the Epilogue makes me think that every adult in the family (with the exception of Bill, maybe) already knew they were dating. Bets on how many people mentioned in their wedding toasts? XD

Ari


	4. Scorpius

**IV. Scorpius**

 **10:45 a.m.**

For the fifth time in the past several minutes, Scorpius craned his head around his father's back to eye the group of nine standing several feet away on the platform. Harry Potter was a lot smaller in person than he looked in the newspaper, Scorpius observed. He wasn't short, by any means, but he certainly didn't look as grim and imposing as the _Daily Prophet_ always made him out to me. He looked…well, like a normal dad.

Scorpius shifted his gaze to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They were both laughing at something their daughter had just said.

"Scorpius. Stop staring."

Scorpius jumped, his cheeks growing hot as he looked up and met his father's stern gaze. "I wasn't staring," he mumbled.

"Of course you weren't," Dad said sarcastically, shaking his head. "I'm sure you were already looking over there, and they just popped into existence."

Scorpius rolled his eyes at his father. Dad's jokes were never funny. Grandmother Cissy was the only one who ever laughed at them; even Mum agreed they were awful.

Just then, Mum herself hurried over to rejoin them, her cheeks slightly pink from jogging. "I finally managed to track Daph and Theo down," she said breathlessly. "Merlin, you can't see anyone with this steam. Scorp, Aunt Daphne says Ara would love for you to sit with her and her friends on the train."

Scorpius wrinkled his nose at his mother. "I don't want to sit with Ara and her friends," he said distastefully. "They're fourteen—and _annoying_."

Mum raised her eyebrows at Scorpius before looking at Dad. Dad just shrugged his shoulders. "You can't fault his logic," he said reasonably.

Mum rolled her eyes. "I'll tell Aunt Daphne you said thanks," she said dryly, slipping her arms around Scorpius and hugging him close.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle from the Hogwarts Express pierced the air, and Scorpius startled in his mother's arms. A sudden buzz of energy flared up in the crowd, as, all around, students began frantically loading the last of their possessions onto the train.

"First whistle," Mum said in a sad voice, tightening her hold on Scorpius and pressing a kiss into his blond hair. "I don't want you to go."

" _Mum_ ," Scorpius groaned, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "You're not going to cry, are you?"

"Oh, hush," Mum admonished, pulling away from Scorpius and smiling at him as she smoothed his hair back. "You be good, all right? I don't want to get any letters from the headmistress saying that you've gotten yourself maimed in the Forbidden Forest."

"Mum, I'd never let myself get _caught_ in the Forbidden Forest," Scorpius told her, grinning. "You know I'm smarter than that."

Mum shook her head in exasperation, and Scorpius turned to hug his father.

"Will people make fun of me if I write you every week?" Scorpius asked his father, leaning into the embrace.

Dad chuckled, patting Scorpius's back. "If they do, they're hypocrites. Everyone writes weekly letters home their first year."

"Your dad wrote Grandmother Cissy and Grandfather Lucius twice a week," Mum chimed in, her eyes twinkling. "In fact, when your dad and I were dating, Grandmother Cissy showed me some of the letters she saved. Your father told the most _dramatic_ stories—"

"I think he gets the idea," Dad interrupted, shooting Mum an annoyed look. She winked at him.

The second whistle trilled, loud and long. The buzz of energy on the platform turned into a roar.

Scorpius swallowed, looking up at his father. This was it. The moment had arrived for him to reveal his deepest fear, the one that had rooted itself in his chest the moment his Hogwarts letter had arrived, and refused to leave. It was now or never.

"Dad," Scorpius whispered. "If I don't make any friends…can I be homeschooled?"

Dad's eyebrows shot up his forehead. Blinking rapidly, he looked at Mum over Scorpius's head, and they had a strange silent argument—as they often did when they thought Scorpius wasn't looking. Mum usually won.

Sure enough, a moment later, Mum coughed, straightening her shoulders. "I'm going to go say goodbye to Ara," she said, smiling at Scorpius. She hugged him again, kissing his cheek. "See you at Christmas, darling. Have a good year, and be sure to write us tomorrow."

Scorpius nodded at his mother, watching her disappear into the thick white smoke. Then, he turned back to his father.

Dad looked uncomfortable. "Scorpius," he said in a low voice. "Why…why wouldn't you make any friends?"

Scorpius shrugged, averting his brown eyes from his father's gray ones. "Sometimes, I listen when you and Grandfather Lucius talk," he mumbled. "It's always about…about _old prejudices_ —and _unfair treatment_."

"Scorpius, we aren't talking about you," Dad said quickly.

"No—it's about all of us, isn't it?" Scorpius asked, embarrassed to feel a lump form in his throat as he met his father's gaze. "It's why you and Mum rarely go out—and why Grandmother and Grandfather live in France half the year."

An odd expression crossed Dad's face—it looked almost hollow. Scorpius had only seen his father look this way once before: the day after Scorpius's sixth birthday, when Scorpius had drawn the _Scar_ on his left forearm—the same Scar that was on his father's arm. Scorpius had only wanted his arm to match his father's, but Dad had been furious when he'd seen it. Now, Scorpius watched as his father seemed to struggle with his words for a moment, his lips moving soundlessly. Then, at last, he bent down so Scorpius's face was level with his.

"Scorpius," he said quietly. "I know you're old enough to understand that our family isn't…normal. I know you have questions—and I promise, when you're older, I'll do my best to answer them all. But right now, I don't want you to worry about the things that…some people might say. Because you're a good boy—and good boys always make good friends."

Scorpius swallowed heavily. "But—what if—?"

"Scorpius, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that it's better not to wonder, 'What if?'" Dad said in a low voice, putting a hand on Scorpius's shoulder. "What happens, happens. Your mother and I love you very much, and we'll be happy if you're happy. If you aren't happy…then we'll do everything we can to change that—but honestly, Scorpius, I don't think you're going to need us at all. I think you're going to love Hogwarts, and I think you're going to make us very proud."

Scorpius stared at his father. Dad was rarely emotional—that was Mum's territory. But Scorpius was sure that he'd just heard a quaver in Dad's voice. "Really?" Scorpius asked in a whisper. "Even if I'm in Hufflepuff?"

Dad winced, looking uncomfortable again. "Traditionally, Malfoys are Slytherins," he said stiffly.

"Mum says tradition is for insufferable, uptight pricks," Scorpius interjected.

"Of course she does," Dad breathed, shaking his head, as, just then, the third whistle blew, and doors began slamming shut all along the scarlet train. Dad quickly ushered Scorpius into his carriage, and out of the corner of his eye, Scorpius saw Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger's red-haired daughter clamber into a neighboring carriage with Harry Potter's son. Scorpius caught his father's gaze.

Dad gave him a sharp look. "Don't—"

"They're in a different carriage, Dad," Scorpius pointed out, rolling his eyes. "I'm probably never going to talk to them."

Dad nodded, looking slightly relieved. Then, he smiled at Scorpius, reaching a hand through the window of the compartment to squeeze Scorpius's shoulder. "Have fun."

Scorpius nodded, smiling back. "I'll do my best."

With a long, noisy groan, the train began to move, and as Scorpius watched his father walk alongside the carriage, waving, he was suddenly struck by the idea that Grandfather Lucius had probably done the same thing on Dad's first day of Hogwarts. Scorpius grinned, leaning farther out the window.

"Dad!" he called. "D'you think Grandmother Cissy still has your letters from school? I want to hear all your dramatic stories!"

Laughing at the horrified expression on his father's face, Scorpius continued to wave as the scarlet steam engine cranked its way out of the station, the wind whisking away his worries as it blew at his hair, propelling him towards what Scorpius was suddenly determined would be the best seven years of his life.

* * *

Author's Note:

I debated a lot about whether to write this chapter from Draco's POV or Scorpius's POV. I ultimately settled on Scorpius because I enjoyed the innocence of his perspective. Also, this kid is a treasure. I can count on my hands the number of things I liked about the Cursed Child, and Scorpius's characterization ranks at #1.

Hugs,  
Ari


	5. Albus

**V. Albus**

 **6:00 p.m.**

Albus looked up as the compartment door slid open and Rose slipped back inside, her long reddish-brown hair freshly tied into a bushy plait that hung down her back.

"I stopped to talk to the conductor," Rose announced, retaking her seat across from Albus in the compartment. "He says we're about half-an-hour out."

Albus nodded, turning to glance sideways at the third occupant of their compartment. Malcolm Wood was soundly asleep and snoring against the windowpane. His face, which had been pale and peaky for most of the train ride, was now a faint shade of green.

"D'you think he can manage?" Rose asked in a mildly amused tone, following Albus's gaze. "He looks like he's going to need our help just to get off the train."

"I reckon he'll be all right," Albus said. "He _did_ warn us about his motion sickness."

"I thought he was joking about that," Rose shook her head. "Doesn't he play Quidditch?"

"Yeah, and he's brilliant," Albus said fervently. "So is his brother. James and I have been playing Quidditch with them for years—they're bloody unstoppable."

"Speaking of James," Rose said in a dark voice, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I passed by his compartment on my way to the loo. I think he's planning something."

Albus sat back in his seat, shrugging his shoulders and turning to look out the window. "Isn't he always?" he asked moodily.

"Yes, well, whatever it is, it sounded dangerous," Rose said disapprovingly, arms crossed. "He's got Freddie and Louis involved—and Magnus Wood, too." She paused, sniffing. "I think we should tell Victoire. Maybe she can put a stop to it."

Albus didn't respond. He continued to stare out the window, focusing on the blurry outlines of trees and shrubbery as they flitted past in quick succession.

"Al…" Rose said slowly. "Al. _Albus_."

Albus clenched his jaw, ignoring her.

"Albus Severus—!"

Albus swiveled around to glare at his cousin. "Don't call me that," he snapped.

Rose raised her eyebrows, looking affronted. "By your name, you mean?"

When Albus didn't answer, Rose let out an impatient sigh. " _Al_ , I swear, if this is about James and that _stupid_ Slytherin thing again—"

"It's not," Albus said angrily, though he could feel the tips of his ears heating up.

Rose snorted. "You're a pathetic liar. It's why you'd make a terrible Slytherin."

"That's not what James thinks," Albus muttered, staring at his knees.

"Are you seriously going to take _James's_ word on this?" Rose demanded. "Al, this is the same bloke who, six years ago, was convinced that Holyhead Harpies players could turn into _actual harpies_."

In spite of himself, Albus snorted. "Mum got a good laugh out of that one."

Rose grinned. "It's a shame he figured out the truth. It was fun watching James cower in fear every time your mum moved."

Albus shook his head, and the two of them lapsed into a brief silence. Then, swallowing heavily, Albus looked up and met Rose's gaze for the first time.

"It's not just James, Rose," Albus said quietly. "The entire Wizarding world wants to know what house I'll be in. Rita Skeeter even wrote that article about it."

"That article was rubbish," Rose said emphatically. "Auntie Ginny got it retracted from the _Prophet_ , remember?"

"That just made more people want to read it," Albus said miserably. "Dad actually got letters about it."

Rose blinked. "You mean—people _wrote_ to Uncle Harry about which house you ought to be in?"

Albus nodded. "Most everyone expects me to be a Gryffindor like him, but a few people thought I'd make a good Ravenclaw. We got one letter saying that I was going to make Salazar Slytherin proud, but Dad found out that it was from James and Freddie."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Gits."

Albus shrugged gloomily. "It was just one letter. I got about thirty others that _weren't_ from James."

"Al, who _cares?_ " Rose demanded. "Those people don't even _know_ you—and neither does Rita Skeeter," Rose added distastefully. "The Sorting Hat doesn't care what the Wizarding world thinks about you—it only cares about _you_. And it doesn't matter what house you're in because you're always going to be Albus Potter, and we're always going to love you. James, included, even if he's too much of a prat to admit it."

"You sound like Dad," Albus said under his breath. "Why does everyone in this family keep acting like it doesn't matter what house we're in? Rose, your house is where your friends are—it affects your _entire_ Hogwarts experience!"

"You're being dramatic," Rose said irritably.

"No, Rose, it's _true_ ," Albus insisted. "D'you think your parents would've still been friends with my dad if they hadn't all been in the same house?"

For the first time, Rose looked upset. "Of course they would," she said, crossing her arms. "They're _best_ friends—they were _meant_ to be. _We_ wouldn't stop being friends if we were in different houses, would we?"

Albus blinked. With a jolt, he realized that there was something more than mere indignation in Rose's expression, and it took him several moments to recognize it for what it was: doubt. It looked oddly out-of-place on her features.

"Of course we wouldn't stop being friends," Albus said firmly. "We're family. You're stuck with me, like it or not."

Rose's expression cleared. "Good," she said crisply. "Then, as long as that's cleared up, I don't mind helping you out."

Albus frowned warily at her. "Helping me with what?"

"The Sorting's alphabetical—Mum told me," Rose explained, in her most businesslike, Aunt Hermione-ish voice. "That means I'm going to be sorted first. 'Granger-Weasley' comes before 'Potter.'"

Albus shook his head slowly. "So?"

" _So_ ," Rose said impatiently, rolling her eyes at Albus, " _I'm_ going to wear the Hat before _you_ do. Maybe I can try and convince it to put us in the same house."

Albus's jaw dropped. He gaped at Rose. "D'you really think that would work?"

"It wouldn't hurt to try, would it?" Rose shrugged. "Dad says I can be very persuasive."

Albus blinked, shaking his head. "I…I can't believe you'd really do that."

"Of course I would," Rose said resolutely. "Don't get me wrong—I still think you're an idiot for worrying about all this, but…I reckon you might be right about one thing. Being in the same house _would_ be nice."

Albus's face split into an enormous grin. "I always knew you were my favorite cousin," he said warmly.

Rose snorted, though Albus could tell that she was pleased. "Get off your high hippogriff, Al. No one else wanted the job."

Albus's indignant splutter was interrupted by Malcolm, who, at that very moment, let out a low groan in his sleep, slowly raising his head from the windowsill and blinking blearily at Rose and Albus.

"Whuzgoin' on?" Malcolm mumbled, his eyes unfocused. "Did we catch the Snitch yet?"

Albus looked at Rose, who had covered her mouth with her hand to repress her giggles.

"Er—nearly," Albus told Malcolm brightly, and he nodded and rested his head back against the window, closing his eyes.

"Wake me up when we win," he muttered groggily, and barely a second later, he was snoring again.

Albus shook his head, turning back to Rose with a smile. "I reckon we've already won," he told her softly.

Rose beamed at him.

* * *

Author's Note:

In my head canon, Albus and Scorpius don't become best friends until a bit later on, which is why he didn't play a role in this chapter, in case anyone was curious or confused about that. Malcolm Wood here is Oliver and Katie's youngest, and one of my favorite OCs. :)

I'm a firm believer in the strong Rose/Albus friendship. I think that was one of the things that hurt most about Cursed Child for me after the Epilogue. :(

Anywho, I hope you're enjoying this story! There's just one chapter left!

Ari


	6. Arthur

**VI. Arthur**

 **11:00 p.m.**

"Al and Rose are Gryffindors," Molly announced, as she walked into hers and Arthur's bedroom, her nose buried in a scroll of parchment. "And James and Freddie have already earned their first detention of the year for blowing up half the toilets in the seventh floor lavatory. Apparently, they were in the process of smuggling a toilet seat up to the Owlery when Filch caught them."

Arthur looked up from the newspaper he was reading in bed, trying and failing to keep his amusement out of his expression. "That must be some sort of a record, don't you think? I don't think even Fred and George managed to get detention on their first day back."

"No, but Fabian and Gideon did," Molly said, pursing her lips. "Remember the train ride to Hogwarts in our sixth year? The two of them transfigured a bunch of chocolate frogs into real frogs and set them loose in our compartment."

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head, and Molly sighed heavily. Setting the letter she had been reading down on her bedside table, she pulled back the bedcovers and slid into bed next to Arthur, using her wand to turn out the bedroom lights. Reflexively, Arthur tucked the _Evening Prophet_ under his pillow, reaching out and wrapping an arm around his wife as she snuggled into his side.

"Who was the letter from?" Arthur murmured, after a few moments of comfortable silence. "It's a bit late for the kids to be writing, isn't it?"

"Minerva," Molly explained. "She's written every September since Freddie and James started Hogwarts. I think she's still in denial about them."

Arthur smiled, gently stroking Molly's hair. "Perhaps," he said quietly. "Or perhaps she's just as stunned and grateful as we are to be able to witness our family grow."

There was a small pause, and Arthur felt Molly's arm tighten around him slightly.

"Speaking of denial, though," Arthur continued, grinning in the darkness. "Have you spoken to Bill today?"

Arthur felt Molly's eyebrows furrow against his shoulder. Then, he heard a rustle of blankets as she sat up in bed and looked at him. "No—what happened?"

"Oh, nothing to worry about," Arthur breezed. "He might just be having a spot of trouble adjusting to the news that his dear daughter has been in a committed, secret relationship with a certain Metamorphmagus since Christmas."

Molly snorted, shaking her head as she relaxed against her pillows again. "That boy has always been rather stupid about his daughters," she quipped.

Arthur laughed. "Come now, Molly, dear, it's always hard to watch your children grow up."

"It's far better than having to watch them grow up too quickly—or else not grow up at all," Molly pointed out, her voice constricting slightly, and Arthur's heart gave a painful twinge. He blinked, and for a moment, Fred's handsome face, youthful and laughing, flashed across his eyes.

Arthur lay in silence for several minutes, his heart and mind racing. Then, finally, he cleared his throat.

"Mollywobbles?" he whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Would you like to go for a walk?"

There was a long pause as Molly considered this. Then, she shifted around in Arthur's arms so she was facing him. Through the darkness of their bedroom, Arthur could just make out her wary frown.

"Where?" she asked slowly.

Arthur grinned.

* * *

"I don't know that I've ever been here at night before," Molly said mildly, as, hand-in-hand, she and Arthur walked down Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, which—for the only time in Arthur's memory—was completely devoid of both steam and people. The platform looked rather forlorn, but also strangely beautiful without the presence of the enormous Hogwarts Express in its midst.

"Nor have I," Arthur replied, pausing in the middle of the platform and smiling at Molly. It had taken a great deal of convincing on Arthur's part for his wife to consent to leaving the Burrow so late at night for a mysterious adventure to an undisclosed location—and when Arthur had apparated her to King's Cross Station, her shock and disbelief had known no bounds.

But now, she looked quite calm as she stood opposite Arthur in the middle of the so-familiar platform, smiling back at him as she gave his fingers a warm squeeze. Stepping forward, Arthur gently placed his other hand under her chin and tilted her face upwards slightly so their gazes locked.

"Happy anniversary," he whispered.

Molly's eyebrows shot up her forehead.

"Arthur, sweetheart, you've always been a barmy one, but this is a stretch, even for you," she said in an amused, incredulous tone. "Our anniversary is in November."

Arthur smiled. "I wasn't talking about our wedding anniversary," he said, shaking his head. "I meant—fifty years ago today, you and I rode the Hogwarts Express to school together for the last time."

Molly's mouth fell open. Blinking rather rapidly, she drew back from Arthur and looked slowly around at the platform.

"Fifty years," she murmured.

"Feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?" Arthur asked lightly.

Molly smiled furtively at Arthur. "You proposed to me that day."

Arthur nodded. "And you refused."

Molly turned and shot him a stubborn, indignant look over her shoulder that was so reminiscent of her seventeen-year-old self that Arthur's heart skipped several beats.

"I didn't _refuse_ , Arthur," Molly told him firmly. "I just told you to ask me again when neither of us was quite so dependent on our parents." She paused, lifting her chin. "I already knew by that point that I was going to marry you, you know—whether my parents approved or not."

Arthur felt a little jolt of exhilaration at Molly's resolute tone, so familiar was it to him. He watched as she turned and walked a little ways further down the platform.

"So much happened here," she said quietly, pausing again in her tracks. Raising her hand, she pointed at a spot, several feet away. "Right there—that's where Bill got off the train after his seventh year and told me he was moving to Egypt."

Arthur swallowed, walking slowly down the platform to join Molly. Pointing at a nearby rubbish bin, Arthur said, "Charlie tried to toss his exam scores in that dustbin after his fourth year, but I caught him."

Molly gave a strangled laugh. "I remember that—Percy tipped us off, didn't he?"

"Charlie nearly boxed his ears," Arthur said, shaking his head. "They didn't speak for half the summer."

The two of them lapsed into a lingering silence, as the memories settled between them like a haze.

Then, Molly cleared her throat. "Over there," she said, her voice catching slightly as she gestured towards the other end of the platform, "is where the twins told me that the poor, lonely boy that we'd helped onto the platform was Harry Potter."

Arthur's heart gave a little start in his chest. "I bet Ginny was beside herself when she heard," he murmured, smiling.

Molly giggled and nodded, covering her mouth with her hand. "She wanted to get on the train to see him." She paused, swallowing heavily. "You know, she cried that day, watching all her brothers leave, and—and George—he—" she broke off, shaking her head. "He promised to send her a Hogwarts toilet seat."

Arthur burst out laughing. "So, _that's_ where Freddie and James got the idea."

Molly turned around to face Arthur, frowning confusedly. Then, slowly, her eyes widened, as comprehension dawned on her.

"Oh, no," she groaned, covering her eyes. "You don't…you don't think _George_ put them up to it, do you?"

"Remind me to put a pillow and blanket out on the couch for him tomorrow night," Arthur said lightly. "Somehow, I get the impression that Angelina wasn't in on the plan."

Molly shook her head, leaning into Arthur's shoulder. Still smiling, Arthur slipped his arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head.

They stayed that way for several minutes, the muggy, evening air settling around them like a warm, thick cloak. At last, feeling pleasantly drowsy, Arthur looked down at Molly. "Shall we go home?" he asked softly.

But Molly wasn't looking at him. She was staring unblinkingly at a spot in the distance, her jaw slightly clenched.

Arthur drew back. "Molly?" he asked, frowning worriedly.

"The day after Dumbledore's funeral, when Ron and Ginny finished school," Molly whispered, "I—I came to pick them up from the station alone. Bill still wasn't well after—after Greyback, and you were at work—and the twins were on a…reconnaissance mission for Mad-Eye. They—they had just officially joined the Order."

Arthur stared at Molly, a chill of foreboding creeping into his heart.

"I...I was standing—right over there," Molly said, pointing a slightly unsteady hand in the direction of a distant brick post. "And I saw them—Ron, and Harry, and Hermione—they got off the train together. Harry looked awful, like he hadn't slept in a week—and Hermione's eyes were red—and Ron…he was standing in the middle of them—and there was this—this _look_ in his eye…and—that's when I knew."

"Knew what?" Arthur asked hoarsely.

Molly turned around and faced him, her chin trembling. "That's when I knew…how deep we were in—all of us," she whispered. "That not even Ginny was safe anymore—that we could do everything in our power to protect our children, but it still wouldn't be enough."

Arthur's eyes and throat stung painfully. "Molly," he whispered.

Molly shook her head, lifting a determined smile onto her face. "I don't regret it," she told him, taking his hands and squeezing them tightly. "Any of it—joining the Order, fighting…" she trailed off, her voice tapering. Pressing her lips together, she looked up and met Arthur's gaze, her bright brown eyes blazing. "Arthur, you and I…we raised seven strong, stubborn children—and I know we did the right thing, stepping back and letting them choose their own way…" She paused, swallowing. "I just…wish it didn't make me feel so—wrong."

Arthur released a shaky breath. "Me, too," he murmured, and Molly gave him a tremulous smile, before stepping forward and embracing him tightly. Arthur pulled her close, letting her warmth overwhelm his senses. There had been days—months—in the aftermath of the war that Arthur had wondered if he and Molly would ever smile again. It had taken them a long time to find a way to build the pieces back up together, rather than allowing the pieces to tear them apart. He and Molly were no longer the fresh-faced teenagers from fifty years ago, boarding the Hogwarts Express together with dreams of taking the world by storm, oblivious to the hardships that life would hurl at them, again and again. War, and loss, and grief had hurt them both in ways they were still trying to understand, but Arthur was grateful every day that they were understanding it together.

Life had to go on. Tomorrow would always come, and they would both wake up to face it, no matter what. The last fifty years had brought with them more horror and heartache than Arthur had imagined possible, but they had also given Arthur love, laughter, and the most extraordinary moments of his life. There would always be things that Arthur would wish he could change. There would always be a touch of sadness attached to certain happy memories. He and Molly—they had learned how to live again, but they weren't the same people they had been fifty years ago. They wouldn't be the same people again.

And in that moment, as Arthur held his wife close to him in the middle of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, he knew he had made peace with that.

All was well.

* * *

Author's Note:

When I first joined this website six years ago, I thought I knew what it meant to write. Stringing words together wasn't so hard. Making them sound good was just a dash of additional effort, right?

Not at all. Time and time again over the past six years, I have proved myself wrong, slowly making my way through fifty stories and changing a tiny bit more with each one. And I have _you_ to thank for that: the lovely readers/reviewers/supporters who have flooded my inbox and heart with their thoughts, good and bad, allowing me to grow as both a writer and a person. And it has been more rewarding than I ever imagined it could be.

Thank you, J.K. Rowling, for allowing my imagination to run wild every day. Thank you, FanFiction, for six years, fifty stories, a quarter of a million words, and countless memories. And thank you, my wonderful readers, for everything else.

Much love,  
Ari


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